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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25073911">Teeth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allegra_Soleil/pseuds/Allegra_Soleil'>Allegra_Soleil</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mercy [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Choking Kink, F/M, Rough Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:06:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,246</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25073911</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allegra_Soleil/pseuds/Allegra_Soleil</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and you finally find out the reason behind your amnesia. <br/>But can Peter deal with the aftermath?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mercy [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1506767</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Teeth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Peter was going to be sick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn't felt sick in years, ever since the spider bite, but he was sure his stomach was about to turn any second now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was all in front of his eyes, the darkest, most confidential of S.H.I.E.L.D's files. Project Lazarus. Nick Fury’s  unethical, insane scheme to get the original six back together, using the kree blood running through Captain Marvel's veins to reanimate the fallen ones. And you had been the ultimate guinea pig, the final test. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Peter had been the one to authorize it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The name on the files was your father's, but Bucky had only consented after Peter… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ran, barely making it to the ensuite on time to empty the contents of his stomach into the sink. He let the water flow to wash the foul liquid away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That wasn't even the worst. Oh no, that was barely the top of the iceberg. The most horrifying part, the part that was going to give him nightmares for weeks, was that protocol. The T.A.H.I.T.I. protocol, a machine wired directly to your brain, with your skull</span>
  <em>
    <span> splitted open</span>
  </em>
  <span>, erasing everything Fury considered you didn't need. There were even fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>reports</span>
  </em>
  <span> about how much more docile and happier you were after forgetting your mother's death, and your subsequent murderous rampage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And at least half of it was bullshit. They had told you about Natasha the very same day you had woken up, asking for your mommy in russian, breaking their hearts in a thousand pieces once they understood what was going on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sprayed some cold water on his face, trying to regain his composure. As bad as he was feeling, it was probably nothing compared to what you were feeling. He had to get it together, for you. He rinsed his mouth and dried his face with a towel, stepping back into his room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But you were nowhere to be found.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart fell to his stomach. He scrambled to put on a pair of sweats, cursing the valuable seconds he was wasting, before running at breakneck speed through hallways and flights of stairs until he reached your floor. By the time he barged into your room, he was out of breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No” It came out as a whisper, a barely audible gasp at finding his worst suspicions confirmed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There you were, fully dressed, a backpack open on your bed with a few clothes thrown haphazardly inside as you raided your bedroom for weapons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No” He repeated, more firmly, when you passed by him. He was met with more silence, as you took your small Glock 42 and checked the magazine. You wouldn't even look at him. You couldn't. You knew that if you as much as met those warm coffee eyes, bright with tears, you wouldn't be able to bring yourself to do it, you wouldn't be able to leave him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And you had to. Peter didn't know, you were certain, he didn't mean to do so, but he was playing right into the role director Fury intended for him to play: A distraction and an anchor, something to stay for, to keep you loyal to the avengers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like Hydra had used your father to keep your mother in line once, a long time ago. She had told you that story, told you about your dad's face, frozen inside a cryogenic pod. And she had taught you, with tears in her eyes, the motto you had lived your whole life by, up until now: </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Your first and most important loyalty, must always be to yourself’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You counted your bullets, and tucked the gun into the thigh holster under your skirt. It was time to honor that law.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter stepped in front of you, halting your advances, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y/n, stop, talk to me, please!” He reached for your hand, but you avoided his touch. You knew what would happen if he touched you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s over, Peter” Your voice washed over him like a bucket of cold water, chilling him to the bone, “I’m leaving” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words knocked all the air out of his chest, like a physical blow. He knew your first reaction would be to fly, your mother had raised you your whole life to make self preservation your first instinct. He had feared you would leave him behind.</span>
</p><p><span>But somehow, Peter had never pictured you would want to </span><em><span>leave</span></em> <em><span>him</span></em><span>.</span></p><p>
  <span>He could feel his eyes burn, smell the salt of his own tears. He choked on the question that wanted to escape his throat, it was useless questioning why: He was still pretty much a stranger to you, all of them were. You weren't one to trust easily in strangers, and you had just been proven right. But comprehending didn't make it any less painful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take me with you” He was conscious of the futility of his request as he said the words but he had to try. He had to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You stopped your packing, meeting his eyes. But he found nothing in yours. No warmth. No trust. Nothing but the cold fire of your barely contained rage, algid and terrible. Peter had seen that look before, back in a barn on a stormy night. He regretted, for what was probably the thousandth time, not running away with you then, instead of asking you to stay with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was there” He tried again, “the night you tried to kill Clint”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know” You interrupted him, “I just read the file”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I asked you to stay that night. You wanted to run and instead of asking you to let me go with you, I asked you to stay. I’m not making that mistake again. Let me go with you” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unknowingly, Peter had just confirmed your worst suspicions. He had been the key piece in Fury's chess game from the very beginning, sending him after you over and over again despite his failures, he had set the bait. And you had fallen straight into his trap, forgetting all your training, giving up your own freedom… for a boy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You weren’t making the same mistake twice either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye, Peter.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched as in slow motion how you grabbed your bag and headed for the door, realizing then that the only way to stop you from leaving was to </span>
  <em>
    <span>physically stop you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Desperate, he let his instinct take over in one last attempt to keep you there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tackled you, your body hitting the floor hard, all the air knocked out of your lungs at once. Your wrists hurt where his hands pinned them to the floor as he straddled you, a feeling of deja vu washing over him as he looked down at your furious face, but you weren't the same girl he had webbed down to the faded hardwood of that dingy apartment almost a year ago. Not anymore. Six months of training with the winter soldier, the handler of widows himself, had made you even deadlier than you already were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You tangled your ankle around one of his own, bucking your hips up, pushing him out of balance as you rolled him over, landing on top of him, hand firm around his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think you can stop me?” There was venom, and contempt, in your words, his spider sense flaring up. But tried as he may, he couldn't move, couldn't even look away. He was a fly, trapped and defenseless, in </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> web. He had always been. How foolish and conceited of him, calling himself Spider-man, when there, laying underneath you, he finally understood what a real predator was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> can get on top of </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Think you can dominate me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>boy</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” You felt Peter's gulp under your palm. It was tempting, so tempting…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So you squeezed, just a little, watching his pupils blow wide with adrenaline, equal parts crisp trepidation and desire.  Peter’s head was spinning, and it wasn't just from lack of oxygen. He didn't know the exact moment you went from fighting him to claw at his clothes, but you were, and he was aiding you, ripping yet another one of your panties, another casualty in the warfare of your relationship, guiding your hips down as you braced yourself, one hand on the floor, the other one still around his neck. Unlike him, who was hard from the moment he felt your hands on his skin, you weren't ready, nowhere near wet enough, but you didn't care: The slight burn grounded you, made everything sharper. This wasn't about placer anyway, this was a punishment. For Peter, for making you feel the things he made you feel; and for you, for allowing them to grow and fester in your heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He seemed to like it, though, hips bucking to meet yours, breathless sounds leaving his lips as you fucked yourself on his cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You like this, don't you?” You marveled, “Like it rough, boy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn't your old ‘baby boy’, the one that belied your tenderness as you did the most depraved things to him. But it was close enough to get his heart racing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pathetic” You decided, as you felt his pulse pick up under your hand. He whimpered, tears pricking at his eyes, and at last, you let go of his neck, placing both hands flat on his muscular chest for leverage. It wasn’t long before you were breathless too, as taking his cock became easier and easier with every downward stroke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit... I’ll give it to you, spidey… your dick feels amazing…” You gasped, little frown of concentration on your face, lips parted, unable to contain your little moans. How could he ever let you go, when you were the most exquisite thing Peter had witnessed in his whole life? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too much for you, little spider?” He could do nothing but sob as you teased him, cruelly, tightening your muscles around him “...Or not enough?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You leaned forward, tracing your tongue over his open lips, but quickly withdrawing when he tried to capture yours in a kiss. You changed your pace, no longer bouncing but rocking on top of him, grinding your clit against his pelvis, enjoying the electricity that the friction created on your little pearl of nerves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Peter was a mess underneath you, tears now flowing freely, whimpering, and shaking, fisting the fabric of your skirt so hard that you heard it rip. But still not daring to complain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You're such a good boy, aren't you? Could do anything I want with you… use you anyway I wanted to…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You felt him twitch inside you at your words, another whine escaping his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could ruin you, ride you so hard… get you so close… and stop right before you come” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head frantically, desperate, but still, he kept silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don't want that? But you'd take it anyway, wouldn't you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed his eyes, unable to meet yours, ashamed. That was all the answer you needed,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You would. Because you are mine… my pretty toy… to use… to fuck…” You picked up your pace, bouncing up and down his cock, and he couldn't contain himself anymore, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” He cried, “I’m yours! All yours!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My slutty boy” You praised, legs burning with the strain and exhaustion of the night, but stopping was not an option. You were close, drunk on the power of having such a strong superhuman submitting to you, such a gorgeous man turned into a needy, desperate puddle between your legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please” He begged, pitifully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you need, little boy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers closed around your wrist, guiding your hand until it was back around his neck, and you understood. You could have mocked him again, humiliated him farther, make him beg for it. But something inside his coffee eyes stopped you. It wasn't trust, no. You could practically smell the fear, the sharp tang of epinephrine coming off his pores, every hair on his body still standing on end, proof of his spider sense still on high alert…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. It was deeper than that. It was surrender. He knew you could as easily give him what he wanted, as turn on him. Never, not even back it that farm, had been more evident to him that the hand he loved to hold was a weapon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he couldn't help never wanting to let go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Я тебя люблю” He croaked, throat dry and sore from your manhandling, but still clear enough to make your hips falter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you just say?” You breathed, stunned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Я тебя люблю” He repeated, more clearly, hands sliding up your thighs, till he had handfuls of your ass, “I love you…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up” You hissed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won't. I love you” Peter felt as your nails dug on his chest, until he had five bloody crescent marks to match the ones on his back, “I love you…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You squeezed his neck harder, until he was really struggling for air, black spots dancing in his vision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you” It was nothing but a gasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You made a frustrated noise, but there was no denying the way your walls fluttered around him. And there was no stopping your hips, working him ferociously, fucking yourself on his cock without mercy. You were falling already, falling apart for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come with me” It was a command. It was a request. It was an invitation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Peter knew you weren't just talking about his release.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>To be continued...</strong>
</p>
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